No Matter What
by ledung
Summary: How far would you go to hold a promise? When love, longing and anger brought about by an unexpected sighting in the paper forces Lyra Black to act when she had long since stopped believing she had the strength to, she is about to find out. Fem!Harry, Fem!Sirius. Rated M for occasional coarse language and eventual violence later on.
_**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling.**_

 _ **A/N: So, this is a plot bunny I've had in my head for some time. Now, I'm a great fan of genderbends of all kinds, and a huge Fem!Harry fan as well. What I rarely see, however, is Fem!Sirius... so, I thought, "Why not both?". And here it is. Now, there are a few reasons I wanted to write this. Firstly, I find the idea of the Marauders as a "boys club" type thing to be a bit boring, one of the reasons I like the Harry/Hermione/Ron dynamic so much is party because of its diversity, as it were. Secondly, I love the Mother-Daughter dynamic, so why not turn the Godfather into a Godmother? Other than the genderbend spin, the story will be fairly canon compliant (as for any ships, I haven't fully decided yet, nor would they in any way be the focus of the story, much like how they're mostly an afterthought in the canon story itself), but some changes will take place down the line based on personality differences of the changed characters. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this first chapter. Since I'm not entirely sure about this premise or if it even has an audience, please let me know what you think in the comments.**_

* * *

 _"You know I trust you more than anyone, right?" James said, peering at her over the rim of his glass. He had been in a right somber mood ever since he and his family had gone into hiding. She simply nodded, twirling the amber liquid in her own glass gloomily. "If something happens to me... a-and to Lily, I need to know you'll keep her safe..." his voice trailed off._

 _"You know I will." She replied with determination "I swear it... no matter what."_

The creaking of the worn hinges on the cell block doors followed by a rattling of heavy keys snapped her out of her pondering. She raised her canine head slightly, the dim sunlight, such as it was in the middle of the North Sea, barely reached the second stone from the bottom through the small wedge that served as a window for her solitary cell. _'So not lunchtime yet, then...'_ she mused, but swiftly and quietly transformed back into her decidedly less flattering human form as she heard footsteps and muffled voices in the distance.

Twelve years was a long time, yet the guards had only broken routine once before in her tenure in this frozen pit of misery. Cornelius Fudge, while a decidedly comical and ridiculous man in her opinion, had one thing going for him at least, not every Minister of Magic would choose to dirty themselves by inspecting the prison personally. Granted, he had only done so once before, and that had been five years ago by now. _'Or is it six?'_. This hadn't stopped the guards from griping about the "extra word load" for over a week that time around, of course.

She listened intently, but knew that her turn wouldn't come for a while yet. She was at the end of the block, just two doors down and opposite her demented hag of a cousin. Luckily, Bella had stopped trying to be clever nearly a decade ago, and now seemed content with just throwing the odd "blood traitor cunt" her way once every two months or so. The inmates were all riled up now, and the guards had to bang on doors and bark orders and threats of Dementors more than once to settle them all down. Eventually, she heard a key slide into the lock of the grimy door just beyond the bars. She didn't look up when the door opened but glanced at it sideways through her matted fringe. Cornelius Fudge had put on a bit of weight, she noticed, no doubt the stresses of the job. He stood there, fidgeting slightly dressed in a lime green bowler hat and a pin striped cloak. The thought of a Leprechaun having mated with an American Noir gangster popped into her head and she nearly sniggered despite herself.

"Black, Lyra, number 390." one of the guards, Jenkins she thought, informed the Minister gruffly.

"Minister." she said, or rather croaked, her voice unused for so long that she couldn't even recall.

"Ah, yes. Miss Black" Fudge replied spinning his hideous bowler hat around in his hands "Indeed. And how are things?"

She snorted, only a politician would ask such a question in a place like Azkaban. "Oh, can't complain." she chirped with false cheer but offered little else. Fudge and the two guards spoke in hushed voices for some time, no doubt they were relaying what a model prisoner she had been. She was, actually, she thought without exaggeration. She never made trouble, no shouting frantically at ghosts from her past and no attempts at cannibalism when meals were slid through the slot. The fact that she was likely the most sane inmate on the rock helped with keeping the disturbances to a minimum. Not that she were ever a stickler for the rules but not getting regular beatings on top of everything else was a welcome respite.

"Yes, well, good to see that the accommodations, despite the rather unpleasant circumstances finds you well." Fudge said with a cheery smile, and he sounded like he actually believed it. She noticed a wad of paper tucked under his arm, and her eyes lit up at the sight, any distraction would a welcome one.

"Say, Minister" she said with as much charm as she could muster, it still sounded more like a parched bullfrog however "You wouldn't mind if I had that copy of the Prophet?" she turned to face him as she spoke, a little smirk tugging the corners of her mouth. "It can get quite dull in here you see, and I do so miss doing the crosswords."

Fudge glanced at Jenkins the Surly Guard, who shrugged his shoulders looking quite bored. "Y-yes, well, I don't see why not." Fudge replied and threw the paper through the bars and onto the floor in front of her.

"Much obliged." she said, but didn't move for her prize until the heavy metal door was once again slammed shut and the footsteps disappeared. Moving slowly to save her weary bones and stiff muscles she walked up and fetched the paper before seating herself with it on the corner of the filthy cot to make use of the sunlight. She scanned the front page. _'July 20_ _th_ _, 1993 huh?'_ A pang of sadness stirred in her chest. Not for herself, no, she'd stopped feeling sorry for herself a long time ago, it did you very little good in the end. Rather, the date reminded her of someone very special to her, of a young girl who would be having her thirteenth birthday in less than two weeks time. _'I wish I could be there, Holly'_ she thought, a sad smile on her face. She opened the spread and began to read. After a while, having read her horoscope, _'"Now is the time to start a workplace romance" my pale arse!'_ , the weather forecast courtesy the Linconshire Oracle and the WWN schedule for the week, she happened upon the soft news section. There, in a picture of a vaguely familiar family standing in front of a couple of large pyramids, she saw something that made her steel gray eyes grow impossibly large.

* * *

Eleven days later on a quiet street in Little Whinging, Surrey, a thin girl with unruly, jet-black hair, impossibly green eyes behind a pair of round, wire frame glasses and a distinct scar on her forehead in the shape of what looked like a bolt of lightning sat down between her cousin and uncle on the sofa in front of the telly. Her uncle, Vernon Dursley, was a very large man with very little neck, and a large mustache, while her cousin Dudley was nearly as large with a tuft of thick, blond hair on top of his pinkish face.

Holly Potter was very different from the rest of her family. Not only did she have a different surname, but she also looked nothing like any of them. Even though both her and her aunt, Petunia, were thin, Holly lacked her aunts horselike face and disproportionately long neck. More importantly, however, Holly was a witch. A witch who attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and was now home for the summer holidays. Neither Holly nor the Dursleys were particularly happy about this state of affairs, for while Holly loved magic, the Durselys despised it. And because of it, Holly assumed, they despised her as well. The feeling was more than mutual. Holly was feeling extra unkind in regards to her family that evening as it was her thirteenth birthday, something which they had completely forgotten. Not that she had been expecting any fanfare, there was never any real celebration of her birthday at the Durselys, but she would have liked if someone remembered. She had also been told that her uncles sister, Marge, whom she was forced to refer to as Aunt Marge despise not being related, would be visiting for the coming week, no doubt accompanied by her mean old bulldog, Ripper. Some birthday present indeed. Holly sighed inwardly and turned her attention to the talking head on the telly.

"...the public is warned that Black is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hot line has been set up, and any sighting of Black should be reported immediately." the anchorman said in a dry, droning voice.

A picture of a woman who Holly thought might have once been quite beautiful, with striking angular features framed by straight, black hair and a pair of steel gray eyes. Now, however, the woman had a mad, haunted sort of look. Her face was gaunt and the steely eyes sunken into their sockets with a deranged glint to them and the black hair was so matted that it almost looked like it had been washed out with ash. Aunt Petunia immediately rushed to the living room window to peer out, as if hoping Black would be strolling down the street at that very moment. Her aunt was the worst gossip on Privet Drive, and loved to keep tabs on all the neighbors. She would just love to be the one to call that hot line and provide the tip that lead to the capture of a wanted criminal.

"No need to tell us she's a miscreant," declared Uncle Vernon in a booming voice, staring over the top of his newspaper at the woman on the screen. "Look at the state of her, the filthy lout! Look at that hair!"

He glanced over at Holly, his small, beady eyes disapprovingly scanning over the top of her head. Her untidy hair had always been a point of great annoyance to Uncle Vernon but compared to the woman on the telly, Holly felt very well groomed indeed. She sighed and got up from the sofa and made her way up the stairs to her room. Perhaps some of her friends would have remembered her birthday and sent something by owl.

* * *

Lyra paused behind the closed market and allowed herself to regain her human form. It was a risky thing to do with Dementors on your trail, but she reasoned that if she had to eat stale bread from a dumpster, it was best to do so without a heightened sense of taste and smell. As she wolfed down her depressing meal, she thought back on the events of the past few days. She had been in Surrey for over a week, but she'd only recently found her in the maze of identical little houses. Silently observing from a distance, hidden in alleys or in the brush, Lyra had waited for an opportunity to approach her goddaughter. What she'd say she didn't really know, if Holly had been told about her she'd be more likely to try to throttle her than stop and listen, and even if not her current state was hardly conducive to making the girl believe anything she had to say.

As she washed the bread down with a bit of rain water that looked moderately clean, a strange sort of whooping sound from above caught her attention. Looking up into the inky sky, she saw what looked like a giant balloon swirling in the wind. _'What the...?'_ Transforming back into her animagus form, she trotted down the street and into an alley just off the street where she knew Holly lived. Just as she was about the exist the alley opposite a small park, she stopped. The sound of heavy, angry footsteps were coming down the street to the right of the mouth of the alley, heavy scraping close behind them.

Astonished, she saw the form of a girl walk up to the park dragging an enormous trunk strapped to a pair of wheels with an old fashioned bird cage on top. The girl stopped, huffed angrily and sat down on the footpath. It was Holly, and Lyra felt a warmth slowly build in her chest, this could be her chance. Slowly, she walked closer. Holly, meanwhile, sat brooding and examining her wand as she twirled it in her hand, she appeared deep in thought. As Lyra reached the mouth of the alley, Holly looked up. Taking great care to move slowly and trying to appear non threatening, Lyra walked into the dim glow of the nearby streetlights. Their eyes met, and for a moment Lyra thought Holly looked curious before a flicker of fear appeared in her eyes. Lyra, preoccupied with the prospect of meeting her goddaughter again at long last, hadn't even seen the wand in the girls hand. Now, as Holly raised it with a shaking hand, she did. Instinct took over momentarily, and without even thinking about it, Lyra growled deeply and let out an angry bark. Before she could gather her senses again and try to remedy the situation, Holly stepped quickly backwards at the bark, toppled over the footpath with flailing her arms widely. Suddenly, a loud bang as if from a cannon split the quiet night, and a blinding light fell over the alley and right in Lyra's eyes. Squinting and jumping in surprise, she ran quickly back down the alley and out if sight behind a few shrubs at the other end. Peering through the leaves, she saw that the Knight Bus had arrived.

After observing the bus for a moment, a bang was heard and the night was again empty and silent. At the other end of the alley, where Holly had been just a few moments ago was now only empty pavement.

 _'Well, shite.'_ She thought in both frustration and mild amusement.


End file.
